Los Angeles, CA

"Excuse me?" a voice asked behind me. I turned to see a young girl, a bright smile on her face. "Could you take our picture?"

Looking up, there was a life-sized cutout of Connor Jackson a foot away from me. He was wearing a white button-up and navy shorts, his brunette hair mussed to perfection. It looked like they'd added a little bit of sparkle to his brown eyes, his smile flashing a row of pearly white teeth. He sported the newest edition of Luxem shoes, which is why he'd been conveniently placed in the middle of the shoe store.

Standing next to the cutout was a group of teenage girls, all around the same age as me. And they were more than eager to pose next to the fake Connor Jackson.

"Of course," I said, taking her phone. I snapped a couple of pictures before handing it back to her.

"Thank you," she gushed, her eyes bright with excitement.

It was a very surreal experience to see a cardboard figure of my brother in a shoe store. It was even stranger to have a group of girls ask to take a photo with it.

"What's your favorite song?" I asked, unable to hide my smile.

"'Shades!'" she proudly exclaimed, and the other girls nodded in agreement.

Only the worst song that Connor had ever released. "Really?"

"Do you listen to Connor Jackson?"

"Only every day."

I felt a tug on my arm, and I turned to see my best friend, Jenica Terry, standing behind me. "We're going to be late!"

"It was nice meeting you!" I called over my shoulder, as Jenica all but dragged me toward the store exit.

Jenica's mom was waiting outside, keys in hand. "Come on, girls!"

I slid into the back of the minivan, followed closely by Jenica.

"Did you get something to eat?"

Jenica's mom was like a second mom to me. Due to my parents' busy schedule, Momma Terry was always the one to take me to soccer practice and games. We'd spent many long hours in the car, complaining about schoolwork and listening to Jenica gush about Connor while we laughed and rolled our eyes.

"Who were those girls?" Jenica asked.

"Connor Jackson fans."

Her eyes lit up. "Really?"

Momma Terry and I both let out a laugh.

"You girls are in need of a shower," Momma Terry said, with a shake of her head. "I can't imagine what state your uniforms must be in. That won't be a fun laundry load."

"We had a game this morning," Jenica said, laughing. "What did you expect us to smell like?"

"I didn't realize how terrible it was." She reached over and opened up the sunroof. "Luckily this is the last game of the tournament."

We pulled into the parking lot, the mall only a short distance from the soccer fields.

"I really hope we win," I said as the car came to a stop. "I can't handle making it to the championship game and then losing."

Jenica let out an annoyed huff. "And I can't handle being this incredibly sore for nothing."

We grabbed our soccer bags from the trunk before meeting up with the rest of the team.

"Where did you guys go?" Leslie asked, as we joined the rest of the team, who'd clearly hung around the fields between games.

I plopped down on the ground. "The mall."

Coach Jefferson laughed. "Did you finally get a pair of new cleats?"

I pulled my freshly duct-taped cleats out of my bag. "Absolutely not. A little duct tape and the soles are good as new."

"You missed the tournament tradition of Subway and gossip," Leslie said as we stretched, with a shake of her head. "Very disappointing."

"I'll make it up to you, I promise," I said, with a laugh.

"Captains, let's go," Coach Jefferson called out.

And that was my cue.

"Where's my midfield?" I called, as I backpedaled toward the goal.

I looked at Coach Jefferson, who flashed me a one. One minute left in this tournament. One minute before we'd claim victory.

Haley cleared the ball, landing it right at Jenica's feet.

"Come on, Jen!" I called out, using the bottom of my shirt to wipe the sweat off my forehead.

She dribbled around the stopper before passing it off to the outside left wing, sprinting up the field as the wing chipped it over the defense.

"Use your head!" I screamed.

Jenica jumped up, her head connecting with the ball and sending it into the corner of the goal.

I sprinted from my position as sweeper to the opposite side of the field. Jenica jumped into my arms, shrieking with joy. We took a moment of celebration before the ref ushered us back to our positions. This team was coming for us. As predicted, they sprinted down the right side of the field.

I backpedaled, "Contain!"

Monica stabbed at the ball, and the midfielder chipped it up to the forward.

That left it to a footrace, between me and Marci Adams, the star forward of the San Francisco Snakes.

I reached the ball half a step before she did, jumping up and headed the ball out. She collided with me in the air, sending us both into the dirt.

"You good?" Michelle asked, reaching out her goalie glove.

"Fine," I answered, gripping her hand and pulling myself up.

Marci stood up, glaring at me.

"Watch your back," she spat, storming back to her position right as the ref blew his whistle, signaling the end of the game.

Us: 2. Snakes: 1. That was a championship win.

"I would hug you," Jenica said, as I jogged off the field, "but you're covered in dirt."

I wrapped her up into a tight hug, letting out a squeal.

"You smell like BO!" she called, laughing as I squeezed her tighter.

Coach Jefferson reached over and offered up a high five. "Proud of you."

I joined the line of girls as we shook hands with the other team. Marci pulled back her hand as she reached me.

"Good game!" I called out to her, as we went our separate ways.

"Don't antagonize, Katelyn," Jenica said, steering me toward our bench.

I took off my shin guards, taking in the celebrations of our team as I stuffed everything back into my backpack. As Coach Jefferson congratulated us on winning the tournament, it finally hit. All of our hard work had paid off.

My grin widened throughout his speech, and I pulled everyone into a group hug as he finished.

"Katelyn!" Leslie screeched. "Jesus Christ."

"Get in here, Coach!" I called out. "A celebratory, mandatory, group hug!"

Amidst the groans and the complaints, I could feel the positive energy radiating from the girls as we cheered. And then suddenly I was at the bottom of a collapsed group hug.

"Get off!" I cried out. But I was unable to contain my laughter, the overall excitement of the weekend seeping through me.

"Medal ceremony!" Coach called out. "Come on, let's head over."

We traipsed to the medal tent, giggling and chatting about the game. Standing beneath the hot, non-air-conditioned tent, we were forced to listen to the tournament hosts drone on about the sponsors and how grateful they were. When you're hot and sticky and in close proximity to other hot and sticky people, the excitement dies down.

As we received our first-place medals, the picture-taking frenzy began. The most unflattering pictures always come from posttournament medal ceremonies, when you're all dirty, sweaty, and tired. But they're also the best ones.

The ceremony came to a close, and we began saying our good-byes. This was the last tournament of the season, with the upcoming summer focused on conditioning and team building before we started all over again. And I was going to be gone for all of it.

"You won't even be thinking about us," Leslie said. "You're going on the road trip of a lifetime."

"It's an overglorified bus tour," I corrected, "and I'd much rather be here with you guys."

"You're going to have fun," Monica argued. "Relax and actually let loose."

That definitely didn't sound like me. "I'll do my best."

"Is your dad on the way?" Jenica asked, as we walked back toward her car.

I checked my phone for the first time in hours, my dad having sent me a text nearly an hour ago that he was on his way from our home in Los Angeles to the tournament fields in Santa Monica.

"He should be here any minute," I said. "He's not really good at keeping me in the loop."

She folded her arms, her eyes flitting around the parking lot as we waited for my dad. "Are you watching the interview tonight?"

"It's apparently a family event," I said.

"I'm excited. Connor is so famous these days."

It was true. Connor had taken the country by storm after one of his YouTube covers went viral. People noticed his singing, and it wasn't long before he was in the studio, recording a demo track for which my parents fronted the money.

Before we knew it, Connor was sitting in a meeting room with Lightshine Records, his demo playing in the background. And now he was a walking, talking, pop star poster boy. It's been a whirlwind, to say the least. Everything about our lives changed: my parents quit their nine-to-five jobs to manage his career, my brother's songs are on the radio, his video for "Shades" has been viewed over two hundred million times and he's guest-starred in sitcoms and even appeared in movies. And now we're all going on a cross-country tour with Mackenzie Lewis, an up-and-coming pop superstar, and Skyline, my favorite band.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dad's Lexus pull into the parking lot.

"He'll be proud of you," Jenica said.

"I bet you ten bucks he won't even ask how my tournament went."

"I'm sure that's not true," she said, unconvincingly.

"Yeah right, I've got to go."

"I'll call you tonight after the interview."

I flashed a thumbs-up before heading over to my dad's car.

"No, no, no," Dad said into his Bluetooth. "That's not the jacket we ordered."

I plugged my headphones into my iPhone, putting the right one in my ear and leaving the left ear open in case my dad decided to start a conversation with me. Closing my eyes, I let the Skyline song play as I leaned my head against the window. I'd seen Skyline via livestream when they played to a venue of thirty people in Beaufort, South Carolina, which was their hometown. They were four brothers who quickly rose up the pop charts after my brother promoted their album on his social media, which I may or may not have had a hand in.

"Why does he need to come in for another fitting?" Dad argued. "We already came in for a fitting and the wrong leather jacket was ordered."

My tournament went great, Dad. We won first place. Thanks for asking and engaging with me.

"Okay, okay," my dad muttered. "Let's get it done right this time."

Me? I'm okay. Tired and pretty sore. But it was all worth it, ya know? Since we won first place and all.

My dad hung up the phone, silence filled the car.

"Everything went well?" my dad asked. "You know, with the soccer and all."

A bubble of excitement sparked. It was more than I'd expected him to ask. "It actually went really well," I said. "We won—"

My dad held up a finger in the air as his phone rang. "This is Lorie; I have to go over schedules with her. Hold this conversation."

Closing my eyes, I let Zach Matthews's voice soothe my wounded ego. The hour-long drive was excruciating, and I couldn't get out of the car fast enough once we pulled up to the house.

"Katelyn?" my mom's voice called from the kitchen.

Ignoring her, I headed up to the second floor and locked my bedroom door. I ripped off my uniform, throwing it across my room. The only time he bothered to ask me about the tournament, it was interrupted by Connor's needs. Everything was about my brother these days. Connor's schedule. Connor's tour. Today, Connor's leather jacket fitting.

Connor freaking Jackson.

It was like my parents forgot that I exist too. I have hobbies and interests and do things that are outside of the Connor Jackson realm. Lately, though, nothing seemed to exist outside of the Connor Jackson realm.

I threw off my sweat-soaked bra and underwear and grabbed a quick shower. Then I lay down on my bed with a towel wrapped around my hair.

"Katelyn?" my mom's voice called through the door. "Are you going to join us for dinner?"

I hopped up off my bed, walking across my wood floor to crack the door open. "No."

She came into my room and sat on the edge of the bed. "I never got a text update after the last game."

"You actually want to hear about it?" I asked, as I eased myself down next to her.

"Of course, my love. Every detail."

"You don't even understand the game," I teased.

"Just the offsides stuff," she said, with a wave of her hand. "And, you know, the card system. And maybe the rules on hands."

My body melted into hers, like it did when I was a kid and upset.

"Your brother's interview is going to be on in a few minutes," she said. "Are you going to come and watch?"

As much as the Connor Jackson hype got to me, he was still my brother. And I was pretty damn proud. "Yeah, I'm coming."

"I kept a plate of lasagna warm for you," she said, nudging my shoulder. "And cooked a fresh batch of garlic bread right before you got here."

"For me?"

"Who else can eat an entire loaf of garlic bread by themselves?"

Mom led me downstairs to where my plate of lasagna and heaping pile of garlic bread waited. When I got to the couch, my dad was already seated, the TV on.

"Connor, grab your sister a TV tray," my mom said as she cleared a spot for me.

He glanced up from his phone. "Huh?"

"TV tray for your sister."

"Are her legs broken?"

Dad reached behind the couch, handing me a TV tray with a pointed look. "The interview will be on in a minute. Save the arguments."

I hadn't said a word.

"Connor Jackson," the reporter announced as my brother's face lit up the screen, and the live recording audience applauded.

"Did they have signs?" I asked. "You know, making sure people cheered for you?"

Connor flipped me off without looking away from the television. My dad gave me another pointed look. I deserved that one.

The reporter gushed over Connor and his accomplishments. "So tell me," the reporter said, leaning into him. "How does it feel to be headlining your own tour?"

"It's an honor. I'm so excited to share my new music with my fans."

"I've heard rumors of a worldwide tour on the horizon. Any comment?"

I choked back a laugh. This is the first headlining tour in his career, and there are already rumors of a worldwide tour?

"I'm taking it one tour a time," he said, with a laugh as well. "Let's start with the United States and see where it goes from there." He cleared his throat. "But a worldwide tour is definitely something I'd be interested in later on my career path."

The real-time Connor let out a groan. "That sounded so scripted."

"I didn't think so," Mom said. "I thought it sounded genuine!"

"It was scripted though, wasn't it?" I pointed out.

"It's not supposed to sound like it."

The interview continued for another ten long, excruciating minutes.

"After the commercial break, we'll hear 'Shades,' Connor's hit song!" the reporter said.

Of course it's "Shades."

"For your first national interview, I thought it went exceptionally well," Dad said. "Smooth talking, easy smiles, you really charmed them."

"I guess."

My mom looked over at me. "Katelyn? What did you think?"

"About the interview?"

"What else?" Connor asked.

I felt the bubble of anger stir within my chest, and I took a bite of the lasagna to help push it back down.

"I thought it was fine," I said. "Standard. Wasn't great, wasn't bad. Average."

Connor's lips pursed together, and for a moment I felt guilty.

"If you don't have anything constructive to contribute, Katelyn, then next time keep it to yourself," Dad said.

With that, any ounce of guilt I had washed away.

"I'll do my best."

"Here's Connor Jackson performing his hit single, 'Shades!'" the reporter announced. The camera swung over to the stage where Connor was standing. It went off without a hitch. His voice was smooth; his dance moves were on point.

To me, it was your average pop song: repetitive and without substance. He sang "Shades" because that's what people asked of him, because that's all people wanted to hear these days. But his heart wasn't in it.

Mom clapped at the end of the clip. "You did beautifully."

Dad stood up, his phone in hand. "As I said before, I thought it went very well. And I think it'll help open more doors in the future."

He left the room, followed swiftly by Mom, who promised she'd be right back. I reached over and grabbed my phone, an unread text waiting for me from Jenica.

"You weren't a fan," Connor stated, matter-of-factly.

"I don't have anything constructive to contribute," I shrugged.

"But?"

"But I wasn't impressed. You didn't even look like you were enjoying yourself half the time. You looked stiff and awkward and uncomfortable."

"Probably because I was."

Mom came back into the room, a smile on her face. "Okay, Katelyn, let me hear it." She sat down next to me. "As I said earlier, every detail. Tell me all about the offsides."

"About what?" Connor asked, leaning forward.

"Katelyn had a soccer tournament this weekend, remember?"

Connor didn't answer. Of course he didn't remember. Unlike his interview, my games weren't broadcast throughout the house. Nobody came to see me; my mom was the only one who even took the time to call. I didn't have a platinum-selling album. I didn't have a national tour that started in two weeks. I didn't have meet and greets to schedule and public appearances to attend.

I was just Katelyn Jackson. And lately that seemed to be more of a burden than a blessing.